


Out on the Town

by tuppenny



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Food, Friendship, Gen, like two curse words but I think it's okay to not rate it Teen?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: Jack and Spot have a boys' night out sans partners and children.





	Out on the Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracedameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedameron/gifts).



> Grace asked for Jack & Spot bonding, so here we are!
> 
> Technically fits in my Growing Together series, but that's a Jack/Kath/kids series, and since only Jack is in this one, I'm filing it as a standalone.

**August 1915**

“Hey, Conlon!” Jack yelled across the street as the factory gates opened. He waved wildly and saw Spot stop, look around, register Jack’s movement, and frown before crossing his arms over his chest and striding to meet Jack.

“What?”

“Friendly as always,” Jack shot back.

“Look, Kelly. I just got offa twelve-hour shift, last thing I wanna see right now is your ugly mug. Tell me whatcha want an’ lemme go home.” 

“You got Sunday off, right?”

“Kelly,” Spot growled, a warning note to his vote. “Whaddya want.” 

“Kath an’ the kids is outta town f’r the weekend, so I want a night out. A fun one.” 

“An’ you came ta me.”

Jack gestured up and down with his hands, indicating to Spot that yes, he was here, and yes, he was real. 

Spot clicked his tongue, considering. “Ya don’t drink, ya don’t smoke, an’ even you ain’t stupid enough ta mess with opium.” He gave Jack a skeptical look. “I ain’t a miracle worker, ya know.” 

“Oh, but ya are too yellow ta take on a challenge?” 

“No one calls Spot Conlon yellow,” Spot hissed, raising a fist and shoving it under Jack’s chin. 

“Easy, Conlon,” Jack said, raising his hands. “All ya gotta do is prove it. Take me out f’r a good time. I know Race is outta town, too; I been following that auto competition o’ his in the paper. Figured since we’s both free men f’r the weekend we could let loose a little. Tear up the town the way we used ta when we ran this city.” 

Spot laughed. “Those were the days, huh?”

“You bet,” Jack said, grinning. 

“Okay, Kelly,” Spot said, dropping his fist and clapping Jack on the bicep. “You come by mine at around seven on Sunday an’ we’ll set the city on fire.”

“Seven at night?” Spot rolled his eyes, and Jack glared back. “Hey now, tough guy—I got four li’l kids runnin’ me ragged, remember? I’m way more used ta seein’ seven in the mornin’ than seven at night.”

Spot’s eyes widened slightly. “Geez, Kelly. We’ll make it five in the afternoon, then. Don’t want ya ta fall asleep in the middle of things.”

“I’m countin’ on you ta make this so excitin’ I can’t help but stay up past my bedtime,” Jack said with a wink.

“You got it,” said Spot. “See ya Sunday.”

“Great.”

*

Spot groaned at the sound of insistent knocking on his door. “I heard ya, Kelly, lay off already!” The knocking continued. “Hell, just come in!” More knocking. Spot yanked open the door to glare at an insouciant Jack Kelly, leaning against the door frame, cocky grin firmly in place. “Asshole.”

“Hey now, I was bein’ polite—didn’t wanna barge in, intrude on your personal space,” Jack said, shoving past Spot into the small apartment. 

“Uh huh,” Spot said, grabbing his keys from the table and herding Jack back out the door. 

“So, what’re we doin’ t’night?” Jack asked, clattering down the stairs behind Spot. 

“We’s startin’ off at Coney,” Spot said, fishing in his back pocket for a cigarette. “An’ we’ll go from there.”

“Okay.” Jack cast a quick look at the cigarette and bit his lip, but he didn’t comment. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Spot said, putting the smoke back in his pocket.

Jack smiled and bumped Spot’s shoulder gently. “Coney sounds good.” 

Coney tasted good, too—Jack sprang for hot dogs loaded with fixings, onion rings dripping in oil, and more fairy floss than Spot knew what to do with. They ate their way through the shooting gallery, the sideshow, and halfway down the pier, stopping at every little booth that had a game they could use to show each other up. 

“You’s gone soft,” Spot said smugly, tucking a gigantic stuffed alligator toy under his arm as they walked away from the latest booth, where Spot had succeeded in hitting a lever hard enough to make the attached weight shoot up a rickety wooden structure and ring a bell. Jack, though… Jack had failed. Failed miserably, in fact.

“Mmmph,” Jack said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Soft an’ weak,” Spot said, angling the alligator so he could smack Jack’s butt with the tail. 

“Heeeey,” Jack protested, speeding up slightly to escape Spot, who laughed and started to chase Jack down the boardwalk. Jack turned around and started to jog backwards, raising his hands up to his ears and waggling his fingers at Spot. “Still faster’n you, though!” 

Spot glared and moved into a trot, and Jack whooped, somehow managing to pick up his pace even though he was still running backwards. 

“Kellyyy,” Spot growled, “You rat!”

“Slowpoke,” Jack taunted, then yelped as he tripped over a loose board and windmilled backwards onto the hard wooden slats of the pier. Spot burst into laughter as Jack groaned and rubbed at his backside. “Oww, that hurt,” Jack whined. 

“Guess ya ain’t soft in the right places, then,” Spot sniggered.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Help a fella up, wouldja?”

Spot smirked and moved closer, extending his hand. Jack gripped it tightly and let Spot lever him halfway up before suddenly letting go, cackling as Spot took his turn at overbalancing and landing hard on the boardwalk. Spot blinked in surprise and started to grow red with anger at this turn of events, but, as he watched Jack clutch his stomach and howl like he was a teenager again, Spot couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Soft an’ weak but fast an’ wily,” he said, amused. “Help me up now?”

Jack looked down at Spot and shook his head. “I ain’t fallin’ f’r that,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I ain’t quite as stupid as ya always seem ta think.” 

“Fair enough,” Spot said with a shrug, pulling himself to his feet and dusting off his pants. “Well played, Kelly.” 

Jack winked and grinned. “We oughta do this more often.” 

“Don’t push it,” Spot said gruffly. “I’m gonna need at least a week ta recover from the bruise ya just gave me.” 

Jack laughed and steered them over to an ice cream stand. “Can’t remember the last time I got ta eat more’n two bites of one of these,” he said, waiting for Spot to adjust the stuffed alligator so that his good hand would be free to hold the vanilla sundae Jack had just bought him. “Whenever I buy an ice cream, one o’ my vulture children always swoops in ta steal it from me.” 

“An’ you let ‘em?” Spot said, incredulous. 

Jack shrugged. “I don’t really mind, somehow,” he said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “They’s only little, an’ I get enough ta eat nowadays. ‘Sides, I likes seein’ ‘em happy. That’s better’n ice cream.” 

Spot licked at his dessert and gave Jack a concerned look. “Ain’t just your muscles gone soft, Kelly.”

Jack chuckled. “Waypot, meet kettle.” Spot looked affronted, but Jack raised an eyebrow, “You really wanna argue about that one, Conlon? Maybe we c’n start with you tellin’ me why you’s luggin’ that toy around, hmm?”

Spot deflated slightly and kicked at the boards of the pier. “I ain’t savin’ him no ice cream, though,” he muttered. 

“Only ‘cause it don’t keep,” Jack teased, licking at his remaining scoop of chocolate.

“I said, don’t push it,” Spot growled. 

“Softest softy,” Jack said, and Spot whacked him with the alligator again, knocking the cap from Jack’s head and the ice cream from his hand. “Ow!” He frowned at Spot, bending over to pick up his hat and frowning at the ice cream splattered across his vest. “That wasn’t very nice, Spot,” he grumped. “I was talkin’ ‘bout your ice cream, you idiot, not you.” 

“Sure ya were, Jackie,” Spot said, trying to act annoyed but giving himself away with the nickname. 

“Gotta go home an’ get this cleaned up ‘fore it stains,” Jack said, mostly to himself, flicking the largest clumps of ice cream off of his clothing and onto the pier. He pursed his lips, eyeing the damage, then looked up at Spot. “Do this again next month?”

“You bet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cotton candy was around back then, but the reference I saw called it fairy floss, so that's what that is. 
> 
> Aaaand that is all I have written, folks. No more stories saved up in my back pocket. We shall all have to wait and see when my life gets less crazy and I have the time and energy to be silly again!


End file.
